


Time Is The Providence of Kings and Gods

by Aranhin



Category: The Secret World, secret world legends
Genre: Frottage, Illuminati, M/M, digging deeper, potentially a bit sad, the kingsmouth code, this is as historically accurate as i could make it re:clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aranhin/pseuds/Aranhin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The urges are back."</p><p>"And? They are a natural thing. The body has needs, Solomon." </p><p> </p><p>In which Isaac Fletcher helps Solomon Priest out with a little... personal problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Is The Providence of Kings and Gods

**Author's Note:**

> This is from a little while back (read: over a year ago), when I jokingly said on tumblr that I'd write this... and then had to because people actually wanted me to.

_A CONFESSION,_

_Penned in the Year under the Eye 1702,_

_Kingsmouth, State of Maine_

_One might consider this an Admission to two Acts of Cowardice, and also of bad Faith within the Enlightened Order, and as such I shall see to it that this Missive, once written, is sequestered with my own corpse._

He tilted his head back so as not to let the unavoidable tears fall onto his confession. It was all lies - nearly the whole lot of it, and though his morals balked at the very idea of lying even here, in his final and most private of missives, he understood that it was a cruel necessity. He could not be sure, not really, that his plan would succeed and the deception of Solomon Priest's tomb believed in the long centuries to come. What if he was honest, truly honest, and the deception failed? What then would become of all that they had worked for, all that they had sacrificed? No - even here he would lie.

_My Time on this Earth runs short, and Much is left to be Undertaken; by this I mean the Order, and by our Third, but more on that Apiece._

_The Remains of Solomon Priest were moved at my Instruction, by Loyal Men, who fashioned for him a new Rest within the Tunnels. On this matter, I declare my Reasoning was to prevent our Enemies and Consorts alike from Digging too Deeply._

It was hard to believe that the world had once held the youthful innocence and hope that he remembered from all those years ago - but the light, it seemed, had gone out of his life that score of years ago, right along with Solomon Priest.

Since the moment of his death, there was no more joy to be found in the world - not for Isaac Fletcher. Since that moment, there had been only duty.

 

* * *

 

 

It was an uncommonly hot day in August, and what seemed like the whole town had abandoned their work to play in the cold ocean surf - all but the ever-working Solomon Priest. He was the only one who stayed behind when the idea of taking a swim had crossed the minds of his cohorts, the suggestion declined with an absent minded wave and a few sincere but muttered words about enjoying themselves regardless of his involvement.

Isaac Fletcher had tried - he had given it an honest effort, but he disliked the thought of the great Solomon Priest hard at work while the rest of them splashed about in the refreshing waves, and after perhaps an hour he was overcome by it and promptly excused himself.

Solomon was precisely where he'd been when the three of them - Isaac, Gottfried von Ickstatt and John Langmore - had left, standing in front of the heavy table and staring thoughtfully down at a set of blueprints, a slight furrow in his brow. He’d forgone a coat today due to the heat, and his dark waistcoat and Spanish breeches (technically a few years out of style, but Solomon was set on wearing them – they were comfortable, he said, and didn’t distract him from his work) did little to distract one from his slim profile. For a moment he looked almost like a statue, but after a moment he reached up and brushed a strand or two of hair out of his face and let out a long and deeply frustrated sigh.

It was hard not to watch the man, even in his stillness - there was something about the way he held himself that drew the eye. It was part of what had drawn Isaac and the other two to him, and what had helped gather others, later. Solomon was not the most handsome of men, perhaps, but there was that compelling something... Isaac found it hard not to look, even beyond the man's posture, beyond their work and public formalities.

Isaac tried to shake it out of his mind - he had not come back to stare silently at the other man - and after a moment without success gave up, instead spreading his damp shirt and waistcoat haphazardly over the back of a nearby chair. He had taken them off to swim, along with his boots and stockings, and there was something in the kiss of the sun on his shoulders that had kept him from putting them back on again.

If Isaac's quiet footsteps hadn't done it, the rustling of fabric gave his presence away, and Solomon glanced back at him for a moment before glaring down back down at the blueprints. They were working on a series of tunnels, and an underground archive, and though the designs on the parchment in front of Solomon had been lovingly crafted by the man himself, he seemed not to see them. Finally he said, "The urges are back."

Solomon Priest was a brilliant and great man, but if he had a single flaw it was that he was too much of an intellectual - he lived too much in his own head, and the needs and desires of the body might as well have been a mystery to him for all the mind he paid them. Isaac did his best not to chuckle - it was not the first time the subject had come up, not by a long shot, and however frustrated the man sounded now, there had been far worse occasions.

"And? They are a natural thing. The body has needs, Solomon." Isaac tossed his boots and stockings next to the chair that held his shirt, and then made a vain attempt to adjust his trousers so that the wet fabric didn't stick quite so oddly to his skin.

The other man rounded on Isaac, eyes still unfocused and voice indignant. "They distract me from my work!" He got a single sentence out before his gaze properly lit on Isaac, and all the indignant frustration turned to bewilderment. Solomon made a valiant effort to continue, but even as he did so, his eyes were tracing across Isaac's bare torso and wet trousers. "I cannot... I cannot... concentrate..."

If Solomon Priest was a sight to behold on an average day, then seeing him blushing hotly and speechless was a sight worthy of the finest artist. If Isaac had wondered whether or not he held the sight of the other man in more intimate regard than public formalities and business endeavors dictated, he was sure of it now. His skin prickled where Solomon's gaze fell, and even if his trousers had been dry, they still would have felt uncomfortably clingy. Before he could fully consider what he was doing, he stepped toward Solomon, bridging the gap between them in a few paces. By the time there was perhaps a foot between them Solomon’s breathing had become uneven, eyes finally flicking from Isaac’s body to his face. He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, and in any other situation, Isaac would have expected the gesture to represent fear or anger from the man in question, but there was no fear in Solomon’s eyes and only a sort of underlying static frustration instead of full anger.

Isaac did his best to sound casual, but there was a distracting heat beneath his skin that had nothing to do with the season, and his words came out sounding heavy and fervent. "Perhaps I could be of some... assistance..."

Solomon’s eyes widened slightly, and flicked nervously across Isaac’s face, and after a moment he opened his mouth to speak. When no words came – instead only a few erratic pants of breath – he closed it sharply and swallowed hard.

There had been no rejections, and so Isaac reached out for the other man, taking him firmly by the hips and pulling Solomon to him. Though the carefully arranged folds of Solomon’s trousers had hidden it, the firm contact of their hips gave him away – he was already hard, cock at full attention, and though Isaac had been the one to pull them together, it was Solomon who first ground their hips together in the guise of an innocent shift of his feet. It was the tiniest of movements, but it elicited the most delightful sound from the man, somewhere between a groan and a whimper that sent an electric bolt from Isaac’s chest straight to his groin. There was no denying it, not with the firm contact and certainly not with how Isaac’s still-wet trousers clung to him – he was just as hard, just as needy. It was only the most tremendous act of willpower that kept Isaac’s hands from trembling.

Solomon’s hot gaze was nearly impossible to break, even as Isaac closed the distance between their faces, and ultimately it was Solomon who broke it, eyes darting from Isaac’s own down to his lips where they stuck. There was only six inches between their mouths, then three, then a single measly inch that for a split second seemed to Isaac to span the entirety of the Atlantic Ocean, deep enough to drown in – then, just as Isaac overcame this hellish expanse and moved to close the mere inch between them, Solomon surged forward and their lips finally met. The first kiss was chaste, the second a fraction more intimate and ever so slightly more insistent, and upon the third Isaac let his tongue graze the other man’s lower lip and Solomon opened his mouth to welcome it in.

For a few long moments the kisses were all that happened – open mouthed and enthusiastic, with Solomon letting out the occasional quiet moan and Isaac trying not to dig his fingers too tightly into Solomon’s hips. Then Solomon shifted again, a little more forcefully, and this time it was Isaac who groaned. Impatience and need surged through Isaac’s stomach and he let go of Solomon’s hips to fumble with the buttons of the man’s waistcoat. When the garment finally separated before him, he moved on to the next layer of cloth, not bothering to push the first out of the way. Still kissing Solomon insistently, he pulled at the shirt until it was entirely untucked, and he could slide his hands up under the cloth and across the warm skin of Solomon’s stomach and chest.

Pulling away from Solomon’s lips was a cruel exercise in willpower, but somehow Isaac managed long enough to pull the other man’s shirt and waistcoat over his head. He discarded the garments on the floor beside them and took in the sight of the man before him – skin flushed, the slightest sheen of sweat across his chest, and lust-filled eyes half open. His hands still tightly grasped the heavy table he leaned against, and for a moment it looked as though the man might fall to pieces at the slightest provocation.    

Isaac laid a careful kiss on Solomon’s cheek, then a second along his jaw, and a third just below his ear before using the intimate proximity to murmur, "Any better?"

Solomon groaned, low and tight with frustration. As the man struggled for words, Isaac kissed along his neck and shoulder, taking a sort of perverse pleasure in the distraction. Finally Solomon managed, "It's worse, actually, but - by God - don't stop."

The last two words came as a throaty moan, and before Isaac could help himself he was on his knees, fumbling at the buttons that held Solomon’s breeches closed. They came undone just as easily as had the buttons on the man’s waistcoat, and after a moment of tugging at cloth his breeches and undergarments were down around his upper thighs and Isaac found himself at mouth level with Solomon’s cock. It strained up against the man’s trembling hips, a wet bead of excitement gathered at the top and threatening to spill down its length.

Isaac ran one hand up Solomon’s thigh and closed it around the hard length, stroking gently for a few moments before running his tongue over the head and taking the whole of it into his mouth. Solomon moaned again, his breathing erratic, and Isaac pulled away almost entirely before sucking Solomon’s cock back in, all the way down to the base. Isaac pulled away a second time, tongue caressing the underside of the shaft before swirling around the head, and Solomon gave up all pretense of holding back. He thrust his hips forward to meet Isaac’s mouth, the two men striking up a rhythm of bobbing head and thrusting hips. It took Isaac a few moments to realize it, but around that time his free hand slid into his own trousers, and he found himself stroking himself off in time with Solomon’s thrusts.  

After a few minutes, Solomon suddenly swore and let go of the table, his hands scrambling to halt Isaac’s head. Groaning in protest, Isaac pulled away and looked up at the other man, who let out a nervous laugh and said, "If you continue like that I fear I shall never get any work done ever again."

Isaac chuckled. "Perhaps that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, Solomon - you need a break. You're overworking yourself." He gave the man one last lick – from base to tip – and then pushed himself to his feet. Solomon looked like he was going to protest, either the action or Isaac’s assertion of working too hard, but Isaac put one finger to his lips and added, “Even the Third of our Order thinks so, Solomon – he can see it, all the way from London.”

Solomon smiled sheepishly, and then murmured around Isaac’s finger. “Well, perhaps the two of you are right after all.”

“Perhaps?” Isaac raised an eyebrow, but instead of responding, Solomon caught Isaac’s gaze and then sucked finger into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the digit for a moment until Isaac – suddenly the one whose breathing was irregular and face flushed – slowly drew his hand away.

“Perhaps I could use a… distraction.” This time it was Solomon who was the forward one, pulling Isaac’s hips closer before gently caressing his cock over the damp cloth of his trousers.

Isaac groaned and pushed Solomon’s hand away to fumble at the laces that held the damp cloth closed, impatient to feel Solomon’s skin on his own. The front of his trousers had barely parted when Solomon’s hand slid past his and around his cock, stroking with insistent movements. Isaac shifted closer and mirrored Solomon’s movements, taking a moment to enjoy the pleasured look on Solomon’s face before pressing his mouth to the other man’s.

The two went like this for what simultaneously felt like a lifetime and the blink of an eye, standing almost against each other with Solomon thrusting slightly against Isaac’s hand and Isaac occasionally breaking their kiss to nip along Solomon’s neck or ear. Isaac kept his movements careful and regular, despite the tension building in him and the nearly-overwhelming, frantic urge for more.

It was Solomon, grabbing at Isaac’s upper arm and moaning his name while Isaac left small red marks all across Solomon’s shoulder, who finally pushed him over the edge. He pulled back and, just as Solomon’s knees went weak, pushed him back onto the table, to lie atop the scattered maps and plans and scraps of parchment that held Solomon’s work. The change in position seemed to please Solomon, for he wrapped his legs around Isaac’s waist and pulled him close.

There was a frustrating second, in which the two had to navigate and adjust their half-worn garments, but then one of Solomon’s hands closed around both of their erections, fingers straining to keep them together, and Isaac added one of his to aid the endeavor – and then they were both thrusting together against the tight grip of their hands.

Solomon moaned with each thrust, head back against the table, helpless in his own pleasure. It was all Isaac could do to keep himself from climax, holding back just before the brink, as he gazed down at the other man. In a matter of minutes he found himself swearing under his breath as he realized that in a matter of moments he was going to lose that last vestige of control and spill over onto Solomon – an image which did nothing to help maintain his position. But then Solomon was moaning his name again, and his free hand was gripping the edge of the table again, and he was bucking against their hands, seconds away from his own climax –

It was the throbbing of Solomon’s cock as he reached orgasm, combined with the look of lustful bliss on the man’s face, which finally succeeded at bringing Isaac full force into his own climax, Solomon’s name spilling from his mouth amidst a torrent of moaned endearments. He was almost surprised that his knees didn’t give, though he put the elbow of his free arm down on the table with some force to keep himself propped up and let his forehead rest on Solomon’s chest.

They stayed like that for a few moments before Solomon chuckled and pulled his hand from around their spent members, and Isaac pushed himself back up to assess whatever damage they may have done to the table and its contents. They’d made a mess of themselves, of course, but as it turned out the table’s contents – though a bit rumpled – were free of any potentially damning fluids.

It took Solomon a good few minutes to finally sit upright and push himself off of the table, and even as he did so he was still chuckling. Isaac looked around for a moment before snatching up an ink-stained rag from the other side of the table and doing a cursory job at wiping himself clean before doing up his trousers and offering the rag to Solomon. Despite his fit of giggles, Solomon did a surprisingly quick job of cleaning himself and putting his clothing to rights.

Finally, curiosity overtook Isaac. “What on Earth is so funny, Solomon?”

Solomon glanced from the buttons of his waistcoat to Isaac and back, and then shrugged. “Nothing, I – well, of all the places, all of the… far more comfortable and private places,” He gestured to the table, and then to the room, “Right here. On a table filled with important documents of the Illuminated Lodge.” Isaac laughed, and Solomon hesitated on the last button of his waistcoat before asking, “Can we… again?”

Isaac blinked incredulously at the other man for a moment before managing, “I – When? Where?”

A mischievous look passed over Solomon’s face, and he opened his mouth – but something behind Isaac caught his attention, and he glanced pointedly over Isaac’s shoulder, closed his mouth sharply, and quickly did up that last button.

After a moment’s hesitation, Isaac turned to see what had caught the other man’s attention, in time to see Gottfried von Ickstatt and John Langmore stride into the room. Gottfried called out a greeting, though it was John who ultimately explained their appearance.

“We felt bad leaving you two to do all the work on such a nice day, so we’ve come back!”

Solomon shook his head, and then shot the two an amused look. “No – by all means, go back to your swim. You were right; it is far too nice of a day to spend it inside, working.” The two hesitated and shot Isaac a surprised glance, and Isaac could do nothing but simply shrug. Solomon ignored the look, gave the table a cursory glance, and then added, “In fact, I was just heading out now.”

He gave the two men a polite smile, and then stepped around them and headed for the door. For a moment Isaac felt lost, the intimate presence of Solomon suddenly gone from beside him, but, halfway across the room, the man paused and looked back.

“Are you coming, Isaac? I thought you could collect that book you lent me.”  

 

* * *

 

 

_To the Second Part, then, the reason for this Deception is that I did take the man's life, all true, I did Poison him as the Rumours have long circulated, and likely shall Continue._

Isaac Fletcher hesitated, and glanced at the empty bottle beside his inkwell, marked in the apothecary’s spidery handwriting _For Rats_. The contents had left a bitter taste on his tongue that refused to abate, no matter how many times he swallowed.

If his deception should fail, let the failure at least confirm what common thought already assumed. Let them believe this, instead of the truth – that he, Isaac Fletcher, had loved Solomon King with an unwavering loyalty, and, for the last five years of Solomon’s life, far more than simple professional respect. Let them fuss over the scandal, the conspiracy, instead of the bold-faced truth of the matter. He was responsible, yes, but the great man’s death had ultimately been an accident. He’d just wanted Solomon to take a break, before he truly did work himself to death. He’d meant, simply, to sicken the man – but the dosage had been wrong and everything had crumbled into disaster.

Let them think that he had moved Solomon’s body to hide his own crime, instead of simply wanting to finally, in his own death, have the man to himself. The world did not need the body of Solomon Priest, just his memory and his memorial.

It took all of his fading will to keep writing. He had just enough time to finish writing his lies and navigate the remainder of the tunnels to Solomon’s true tomb.

_For truly it was less an act of Murder as of Martyring, and though I assumed his Duties I perform them with Hollow Ritual, and as his Name is remembered, mine remains in his considerable Shadow. In the one score of Years since my Fateful Act, I have come to accept that this was always my Rightful Place, and in seeking to Unseat him, I did only Seal it so Forevermore._

Let the future think well of Solomon Priest. That is all he asked.

_The Third knew of my Treachery, of this I am Certain, even though he remained in London; now finally, as I breathe my last, he comes to America with Designs for the Order in New York._

_Isaac FLETCHER,_

_Governor of Kingsmouth,_

_Grand Master of the Illuminated Lodge_

 

 


End file.
